Page 31 of I Hope This Doesn't Find
“Nothing,” he says.
“Oh, okay—”
“And everything,” he goes on. “I will leave that to your interpretation. Interpretation is crucial, you see. It’s what this is all about.”
Julius either rolls his eyes or finds a very interesting spot in the ceiling to stare at. He hasn’t spoken much this whole interview.
“So are you working as a full-time author now?” I ask, moving down the list to the next question I’ve prepared.
“Oh, no.” James throws his head back and laughs so loud the elderly woman glares over at our table again. “No, no, no. God, no. I couldn’t do that—for one, it would be such a waste of my Harvard Law degree. I mean, anyone wouldkilljust to get into Harvard, you know? I’d be a fool to throw all that aside. And my professors would be crushed too, seeing as I’m the most promising student they’ve taught in centuries. Their words, obviously, not mine.”
“Your professors must be very healthy,” I say.
A soft, half-muffled sound draws my attention to Julius. He’s pressed a hand to the lower half of his face, his shoulders shaking, then stilling just for a second before he loses it again, shaking his head too, as if he’s annoyed he finds it so funny in the first place. At least he’s stopped looking like the tortured subject of a Renaissance painting.
“Hm?” James just looks confused.
“Seeing as they’ve been teaching for centuries and all.”
He falters, then recovers. “Well, they’re so experienced it certainly feels like they’ve been teaching that long. Harvard is all about the history, you know.”
I note quietly that this is the twenty-fifth time he’s brought up the wordHarvardin the past ten minutes. If Harvard were a ghost, he would have successfully summoned it back to life by now. “So you’re not writing full-time. That must be hard to balance, then.”
“Well, it’s worth the financial stability.” He folds his hands together. “The book money is really just a fun little bonus, but I’m definitely not going to rely on it for retirement or anything like that.”
In the back of my mind, the words from the article appear in screaming, bold black text:sold for seven figures.That’s his idea of a fun bonus? The absurd statement also seems to have an instant sobering effect on Julius, who definitely rolls his eyes this time.
“It’s really more of a side hustle for me,” James says. “The old saying is true: Don’t put all your eggs in one basket. Now I’ve separated my eggs into the law basket, and the author basket, and the investment basket, and also my debating coach basket . . .”
Even though I’m talking to him, I’m watching Julius. He appears to be muttering something to himself—eitherkill meorcashmere, which seems less likely.
“Yeah, sure,” I say, distracted. “I hear that you’ve done a lot of debating.”
“Absolutely. It really sets you up for success in so many fields, even if you don’t end up becoming a professional champion debater like myself. That’s why I always encourage Julius to get more involved in debating.” He gives Julius a light shove. “Right, Ju-zi?”
I almost choke on my own saliva.
Ju-zi throws me a warning look, then frowns at his brother. “I thought we’d retired that nickname already. It makes no sense. Why would I be called a tangerine in Chinese?”
“Why? Because it’ssoadorable.” James grins. “And I really mean it, about the debating thing. You don’t have to feel bad just because I’m naturally good at it. If anything, you should be encouraged by the fact that we share the same genes. It’s impossible for you to beterrible, even if you aren’tquiteas good—”
Julius stands up. “I’m going to get us some drinks. You want any?” He directs the question at me, which is truly a sign of how much he doesnotwish to be around his brother. That, and the fact that he would so eagerly volunteer himself for any sort of task without a gold star or extra credit or compliment attached to it.
But I think I’m starting to get it. The vicious look on his face when I’d beaten him in that class debate. Why he’s never mentioned his brother before. Why he’s so ruthlessly determined to be first all the time. Why he’s scowling now, the lines of his shoulder tight.
We place our orders. He’s still scowling when he returns later with a glass of warm water for me, black coffee for himself, and some sort of herbal infusion tea that I thought people only pretended to like in theory to convince everyone else they’re on a health kick. But James downs the drink in one go and asks for a refill.
“Get it yourself,” Julius grumbles.
James merely looks over at him, expectant.
With a sigh, Julius pushes off his chair again. When he comes back, we’re just wrapping up James’s final response about his plans for the next year, which include a fully funded trip around Europe, a major film adaptation he’s both writing for and producing, and a lecture at some fancy lawyers’ convention.
“This has been great,” he says, beaming. It’s a wonder how he manages to smile so widely and speak at the same time. “Now, I’m going to go sign some stock while I’m here. It’ll probably take a while—I havethousandsof copies to get through.” He gives James another loud thump on the back. “You kids have fun though.”
We do not have fun.
Mostly, we tidy up our notes and sit in silence until I break it first. “Well. We definitely have enough material for that four-page spread now . . . Actually, just his description of the five-star hotel he stayed at for his debut novel’s national tour is enough material for the spread.”
